


chase the endless summer

by oriflamme



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Loki 'He Doesn't Even Go Here!' Laufeyson, M/M, Sorcerer Supreme Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme
Summary: Time for a honeymoon.(Stephen Strange is not amused.)





	chase the endless summer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breathing Room](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089443) by [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise). 



> /stares at my hands/ What have I done...
> 
> [Remember This Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/28656) is Lise's massive AU! I just suddenly whipped this out in a matter of hours, because we needed a honeymoon. Ending Vishanti dialog lifted almost entirely from the Sorcerer Supreme arc, with a few modifications. It already fit so well...

He wasn't even _competing,_ is the thing.

-

The invitation arrives via what Loki presumes to be the usual method - a bright fuchsia arcane circle that appears over his cup of tea and spits out a scroll case. Floating over the table with an expectant air, it waits for him to pick it up.

Loki arches a brow at it, vaguely irritated, and nudges the tea out of the way just as the scroll admits defeat and hits the table with a clatter. He's resigned himself to the fact that, when it comes to magical incursions, neither his nastiest wards nor Wakanda's finest advances in human technology are going to keep out those of his many ( _many_ ) enemies throughout the Realms with the power and inclination to kidnap him. It just keeps happening.

But the scroll hasn't blown up yet, which is promising. Loki takes a meditative sip as he contemplates it.

Fed up with his caution, the scroll uncaps the case, unrolls itself, and flaps up into the air to flutter in front of his face. Loki leans away and pulls his legs up onto the couch, squinting against the bright pink glow of the runes.

It would seem he's invited to a tournament hosted by the Vishanti to choose the next Sorcerer Supreme.

Interesting. "Desist," he snaps at the scroll, when it attempts to plaster itself over his eyes. He bats it away from his face.

Which is when Wanda slams through the door, face alight, waving a glowing scroll in Loki's direction. "Look!"

-

Which is how Loki and Steve escort Wanda to the tournament, in the realm of the Vishanti. The witchling doesn't really need an escort - so far as Loki is concerned, she's proficient enough to attend a magical tournament in a mysterious realm without a minder - but it fills Loki with droll amusement to correct the transparent simulacrum of a guard at the front gates. " _Chaperones_ ," he says, his arm through Steve's, savoring the moment with a smirk as the simulacrum processes this. Steve coughs to cover a snort of laughter; Wanda looks deeply aggrieved, as though Loki is actively attempting to embarrass her in front of a suitor.

"Competitors Loki and Wanda Maximoff, and guest," it decides at last, marking beside their names on the tablet. How dull. As they file through the obsidian columns, Loki slips a small, subtle spell under the simulacrum's woven fingers and tweaks the runes beside his name to say the equivalent of 'chaperone' in the ancient tongues.

It's the little things.

-

Under the terms and conditions and magically binding geas at the bottom of the invitation - all of it, to Loki's suffering, inscribed in the same pink, glowing, absolutely _miniscule_ script - it states that all competitors in the tournament are under the amnesty and protection of the Vishanti themselves.

That, and Wanda will not stop vibrating with excitement on the couch. She beams at her brother as he fruitlessly attempts to talk her out of it.

"I understand that the realm of the Vishanti possesses a beach," Loki says to Steve, pointedly ignoring Pietro as he glares at Loki with rising frequency and intensity. He seems to be under the impression that Loki will have better luck dissuading Wanda. Foolish of him. "And anyone that would dare defy the likes of the Vishanti would probably reach through the wards and squash us like metaphorical bugs, regardless. It's probably the safest possible locale in the realms to sojourn on a honeymoon."

The Vishanti are, in Earth parlance, Elder Gods. Cousins of the Norns themselves, to some obscure, arcane degree. (Those who attempt to chart the lineages of the Great Old Ones with any amount of accuracy tend to go quite mad.)

"So you think this is our one shot at it?" Steven says, with a wry smile. "I'm game."

Loki threads their fingers together, and settles back to wait for Pietro to run his course, content.

A few days later, the others see them off. Natasha extracts a promise from them all not to cause an intergalactic incident whilst on their honeymoon without her there to save them from themselves.

This was probably tempting fate.

-

The candidates for the position of Sorcerer Supreme arrange themselves before the Vishanti in a passable semblance of a line. Wanda bounces on the balls of her feet, hair crackling with red sparks of excitement. 

Loki recognizes some by magical signature, if not necessarily by name - all are of Earth, of sufficient depth of strength that Loki noted their presence over the years. Illyana Rasputin rests her hands on an immense eldritch sword, bored by the sight of the Vishanti before them. The sword itself reeks of soul, which is vaguely horrifying. A child who can't be more than sixteen lurks beside Wanda, her sleek dark hair up in a knot, wearing heavy black boots and a dark dress and worrying at her purple lipstick with her teeth. Ironically, the one with the most latent power Loki can detect, another woman, came wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and a bulky jacket, her brown skin touched by the sun and her short hair raked back from her face to reveal an expression just as unfazed as Illyana's.

There are others, but none whom Loki would deem a worthy match for Wanda's chaos magic. Win or lose, this should be an excellent chance for her to test herself against unfamiliar magic-users of similar talent.

Doctor Strange himself, the current Sorcerer Supreme, stares daggers at Loki with gritted teeth, and Loki wonders if the sudden need for a tournament is perhaps a slap at Strange. Perhaps Strange merely perceives it as such. After careful consideration, Loki rolls his eyes at the man. He'll never get a better chance than this to sass him without consequences; the battle royale phase of the competition won't take place until the seventh and final day.

Finally, the Vishanti fold their impressive avatars down into something more human-sized to observe the first trial. A portal opens along the wall, and a horde of bladed centipedes pours through. Wanda fires up whorls of power around both arms with an eager grin; the girl beside her bites down on her lip, drawing blood, and an immense staff bursts from the center of her chest. Illyana strides toward the most ravenous beast, sword hefted over one shoulder.

Well. They seem to have things well in hand. Loki raises a hand - pauses to nod to Wanda, whose battle lust fades for a moment as she winks back - and then snaps his fingers.

Steve already has the lounge chairs and umbrella they brought from home set up on the beach. The grains of sand are a pale lilac, and the water itself iridescent, but the temperature is balmy and the sun similar enough to Earth's to pass muster. Steve lays on one of the towels, dozing off, his hair tousled by a breeze that smells like an alien sea. Loki stoops to brush a kiss against his forehead, but refrains from the temptation of his lack of a shirt. Instead he sheds his Asgardian armor and waits. 

After a minute, the magic simulacra assigned to see to their needs in their suite of rooms finds them. "Competitor Loki. Do you require assistance locating the current tournament arena?" the servitor asks, mirror-shard eyes blankly polite.

Loki leans back in his chair and reclines it, then fans a metal reflector out of a dimensional pocket with a flourish. "No, I'm quite aware," he says, smiling back. "A piña colada, with liquor befitting the gods. Steve?"

Steve holds up two fingers. "Make that two, please."

"It's not sapient, Steve," Loki points out. Steve just shrugs - ever polite, his captain.

The servitor visibly struggles to process the quest, torn between two competing instincts to assist them. 

Then, at last - "Of course, Competitor Loki."

-

Loki cannot recall the last time he had so relaxing a week. Here, there are no foreign powers to hide from, no Sokovia Accords. They can lay out in the sun or wade in the water as long as they wish, the servitor glumly treating the warded bungalow on the beach as their new suite of rooms. When one honeymoons, he supposes it's best to do so quite thoroughly. 

He makes a point of returning at least once in the evenings. Wanda returns to the suite practically floating with excitement each day, aglow as she describes the latest trials of the tournament. On the third day, the trial is one of illusions that plunges the candidates immediately into a vivid dreamworld from the moment they wake; amused, perfectly aware of the trick, Loki crafts an illusion of himself and sends it off to compete alongside the others. It's one of his oldest tricks, as easy as breathing, and requires little magic to maintain. In his time on the lam he learned to conserve and conceal his magic from others by being creative with what he has, and the illusory Loki is capable of making decisions, conversations, and transforming with minimal conscious input from him. She transforms into a woman as Loki himself slips out of the dreamworld, tosses her dark hair, and summons her full armor with a brilliant smirk as she stalks deeper into the dream. Loki returns to the beach, and lets the illusion attend the next few days so that he at least makes a token appearance. 

This befuddles the servitor, and it spends half the morning frazzled before Loki takes mercy on it and tweaks its internal logic to ignore the illusion back at the arena. Every day, its expression looks more and more genuinely disapproving.

Wanda visits them on the beach on the eve of the final day. Mixed drinks have lost their appeal by now; the servitor brings two strawberry and one pineapple smoothie. It seems resigned to its fate as Wanda and Steve thank it. The illusion of Loki, who accompanied Wanda out, snaps her outfit into a deep green sarong and stares out at the water dramatically, sipping on an equally illusory Mai Tai. 

"Well, we fought bravely today!" Wanda says, cheerfully. Then she shoots Loki a look. "You're terrible, you know. You've skipped the whole thing!"

Loki sniffs. "Such events are always heavily weighted in favor of the sitting champion," he says, primly. "Status quo is a potent thing." If they don't come out of this tournament with that insufferable Strange still wearing the cloak, Loki will be surprised. He already floats around the Vishanti's arena like he owns the place, instead of walking like a normal person.

Wanda takes a loud slurp of her smoothie to drown him out, raising both eyebrows at Steve. "Well, _I_ am going to cream you tomorrow, whether you show up as yourself or not," she declares, and clinks her smoothie glass against Loki's and Steve's. 

Hm. He supposes he might as well. Loki sighs deeply as he reclines his lounge chair the rest of the way. Then he squints, nonplussed, as the servitor abruptly reappears, storms up to his illusory self in high dudgeon, and thrusts a _real_ Mai Tai into her hands with a huff.

...He may have unintentionally broken that thing. Pursing his lips, Loki fans his reflector out - "The sun's gone down!" Wanda protests - and goes back to his vacation.

-

For the final day, they pack up their things. Steve finally sits in the guest seat reserved for him in the observation stands and raises a hand to both Loki and Wanda as the competitors enter the arena. Loki walks up and phases into the illusion in his place, smooth as one pleases. He maintains his gender, though he appreciates his illusion's choice of a long, fur-lined coat over a mail shirt. He pretends to inspect his nails as he ignores the appalled look on Strange's face.

Then, contrary to the very end, Loki hops back as the battle royale begins and steps deliberately over the disqualification line. He leans against the nearest pillar and crosses his legs, smiling encouragingly at Wanda. Wanda sticks her tongue out at him, pouting, then turns to duel Nico Minoru to a standstill. 

Alas, neither of them sees Strange coming. It comes down to Talisman and Strange, in the end. To Loki's eye, Talisman is more than a match for Strange - but after a few minutes, she stops, shakes her head, and walks off the field of her own accord. "I am a conductor of forces. Not a combatant," she says. "Enough. I have duties back home." 

Then she neatly sidesteps into another dimension, something Loki had not thought possible under the Vishanti's geas, and - presumably - returns home. 

Conveniently enough, Strange wins. Loki rolls his eyes (discreetly, this time) as Strange floats over the unconscious competitors and presents himself to the avatars of the Vishanti. 

"Rude," Wanda says, sidling up to him as Strange arrogantly announces his claim to the title of Sorcerer Supreme once more. "It's alright. I know you just wanted to escape me with your dignity intact."

"Naturally," Loki agrees. He curls his finger at Steve, who gives the servitor one last good-natured thanks before leaving his seat to come join them. 

"We have chosen a new Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen Strange. This one thanks you for your service," Omnipotent Oshtur says. Her voice reverberates on multiple arcane levels, compressed so that mortal senses can understand her - but only just.

Wait, what?

"But I - I won!" Strange protests, horrified. 

"You have beaten the others, this is true. But you have not won," says Hoggoth, Lord of Hosts. His voice is even less comprehensible.

"There will be a new Sorcerer Supreme now. This one also gives its gratitude," Agamotto finishes, its eyes seething with light, the words more scent and impression than sound.

"Who!" 

For no particular reason, Loki links his arms with Steve and Wanda's and tugs. "We should...go," he says. He has a bad feeling about -

" **Loki Laufeyson** ," Hoggoth booms, before Loki can make it two runes into a planar warp spell to mimic Talisman's. 

Oh, blast. 

"What?!" Strange yells. He whirls around, eyes bulging in a way no human's should.

"Oh, absolutely not," Loki says, automatically. Wanda clutches his arm; she starts jumping with glee as realization sets it, yanking on his arm with a dawning grin.

The Vishanti ignore him. "Loki Laufeyson, you are now the appointed protector of the realm, with all of the power and responsibility that entails," Agamotto continues. 

Loki starts to sweat. He can feel something, flowing into his reservoir of magic like a seamless tide. It doesn't hurt, oddly. Compared to what he's used to, this is an ocean that should drown him - and yet it feels like coming home.

Blast them, he doesn't even have Strange's cloak on yet. That's _cheating_. "There must be a mistake," he says, summoning his most ingratiating smile. He tightens his grip on Steve's arm, and Steve presses back reassurance. "I wasn't even competing, really."

Strange nods, livid. "He wasn't even here the past six days!"

Across the arena, the servitor rubs its hands together with an unholy glee, as though it's deeply amused by his discomfort after all he put it through. Norns help him.

"There is no mistake. We have looked into your heart, Loki Laufeyson, and while we are not blind to the troubles of your past, we have found...caution," Hoggoth says.

"Restraint. Regret. **Atonement** ," says Oshtur. Her words ring with the weight of worlds, resonating in Loki's skull.

"You wish to change, to forge a better path. Is this correct, Loki Laufeyson?" asks Agamotto, the Light of Truth.

Loki swallows. Wanda on his left, Steve on his right, both ready to leap to his defense in an instant. 

Yet they cannot protect him from this. The words pierce through him, gut him, in the way only the judgement of the most ancient gods can.

And there is, really, only one answer he can give. 

"Yes. It is," Loki says, choking on the truth of it. He can scarcely breathe; Wanda and Steve are the only things holding him upright.

Oshtur's forehead burns like a star. For a moment, Loki can't see anything but that star, the edges of reality throbbing around him. "Then you will protect Earth," she says, not gently, "with all of your strength, and with our blessing. This is our choice. This is your duty."

"Hold fast to these feelings, Loki. You will need them to face what comes," Hoggoth finishes.

 _Thanos_.

Shaking deep in his bones and in his magic, Loki bends his head, and submerges himself beneath the water.

When he rises, Steve's hand is warm in his, a beacon more welcome than any star.

**Author's Note:**

> When they return, just around the corner, N'jadaka squints. "...They went to a Dragonball Z tournament."
> 
> A true weeb can sense these things.
> 
> (And now Stephen Strange goes around stealing bits of Yggdrasil and unleashing unspeakable evil to get moar magical powers and prove Loki is Up To No Good. Comics are weird.)


End file.
